


Meant To Be

by millijayne13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Love, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Slow Dancing, Strangers to Lovers, Teen Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millijayne13/pseuds/millijayne13
Summary: Request: Hi! Could you do a George x Reader where he asks her to teach him to dance for the yule ball, because he wants to impresses somebody else, but then they ✨fall in love✨, maybe they didn't know each other before this for that extra awkwardness? Thank you 💕 - anon
Relationships: George Weasley/Original Character(s), George Weasley/Original Female Character(s), George Weasley/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	Meant To Be

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr @iliveiloveiwrite
> 
> Warnings: she/her pronouns, pining, feelings, emotions, dancing, mentions of food, feelings of sadness, very very light angst. THIS HAS A HAPPY ENDING!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Please leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed!!

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry had many traditions that dated back to the time of the four founders; the houses and their competition, the Quidditch tournaments, but the one that excited the entire student body had to be that of the Yule Ball.

The Yule Ball accompanied the Triwizard Tournament – a competition held between the magical schools of Europe to promote cooperation and boost friendly relations between students. From the very announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, the student body of Hogwarts became more focused on the Yule Ball and what to wear rather than the dangers posed by the trials being faced by their fellow students.

“The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the other houses for over ten centuries. I will not have you, in one night, besmirch his name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons,” McGonagall’s voice calls out across the hall; her eyes steadily meeting every single gaze of the students sat around her.

Those in the hall seem to cower under her scrutiny; the power that she wields over this house being enough for every student in Gryffindor to try their best to impress the head of their house.

George has very little faith in himself at this point. A master prankster, and secretly one of the smartest wizards in the school, he has little talent when it comes to dancing. As he watches his youngest brother take to the floor with the head of Gryffindor, George feels something close to dread settle like lead in his stomach.

He would need help, and he would need it fast, especially if he wanted to ask Margot Banbridge to the ball. Margot – the girl who had caught his attention at the beginning of the month with her secret smiles and wide blue eyes. George so desperately wanted to be the one to take her to the Yule Ball, but then again, so did many of the other lads in the year. George needed to stand out and being able to dance would be the perfect way to do so.

\-------

The common room is loud that very evening. All students talking about the upcoming ball and the lessons completed today. Ron’s face was still red from his dance with McGonagall; he would never live this down. However, for now, George wasn’t too concerned on joking with his brother, but rather how he was going to solve the predicament he finds himself in.

“What do I do, Fred?” George pleads to his twin, “I have no idea how to dance!”

Fred laughs, “Can’t help you there, mate. I’m just as clueless as you.”

George groans; resisting the urge to shove his face into a cushion and wallow in self-pity. If he didn’t know how to dance, how could he impress Margot?

“Talk to (Y/N),” Hermione offers, absentmindedly turning the page of the heavy hardback laid in her lap, “She dances as a hobby. She might be able to help you, George.”

“Do you think she would?” George asks, worry niggling the back of his mind. He had so rarely spoken to you before despite being in the same house, “We’ve never really spoken before.”

Hermione nods, “I think she would. She’s always been kind to me when I’ve asked her for help.”

George smiles; nodding at his younger brother’s friend. “Alright,” He decides, “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

\---------

You could feel his gaze burning a hole into the back of your head. All morning, in every class your shared with the Weasley twin, his eyes had rarely left the back of your head. By morning break, it had started to get on your nerves. By lunch, you were more than ready to accost the redhead and demand the reasoning behind this newfound attention he seems intent on giving you.

Pausing outside the Great Hall, you move to one side to let younger Gryffindor’s pass. Out of the corner of your eye, you see George pause, turning to his twin to look as if he wasn’t just following you for the sake of it.

“Weasley!” You shout. George jumps; not out of terror, but out of being caught ogling so openly. Fred laughs as he leaves his twin to talk to you. George rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “(Y/N)… fancy seeing you here.”

You roll your eyes, “What do you need?”

“What? What makes you think I need something from you?” George questions; slightly affronted at your sudden jump to his needing of something, even if it was right.

You place your hands on your hips; shooting him an unimpressed look, “This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had in our whole seven years of education so it’s safe to say you want something from me. That, and the fact that you’ve been burning a hole into my head all morning so what do you need, George?”

George sighs; running a hand through his too long hair, “Hermione said you would be able to help me.”

Your face softens at the mention of the bright witch; you had a soft spot for the younger girl, her knowledge and thirst for witchcraft something to be found as inspiring. “What did Hermione say?”

“That you dance as a hobby and that you might be able to teach me.”

“Hermione is right on both counts. I do dance, and I am able to teach you,” You state, “But why do you need to be taught, George?”

George leans closer to you; his voice dropping to a whisper as he confesses, “I want to ask Margot Banbridge to the Yule Ball.”

“Ah,” You sigh, “So it’s all for one night with a girl.”

George frowns, “It’s for more than one night. Hopefully something will start after the Yule Ball, but I need to be able to impress her first and not step on her toes.”

A small smile graces your face as George struggles to get through the sentence without blushing. “Meet me every Saturday in the Room of Requirement. I’ll teach you how to dance.”

“You will?” He asks; hope shining in his voice.

“I will, but I’m doing this to protect the poor girl’s toes, Weasley,” You state sternly; your smile lingering at the sweetness of the redhead.

George nods solemnly, “And it’s a service you shall be recognised for.”

Without helping it, a smile crosses your face. Grabbing your bag, you hoist it up on your shoulder, “Room of Requirement on Saturday at 10am, Weasley. Don’t be late.”

\--------

By 10am on Saturday, George can only be described a bundle of nerves. He had barely made it through breakfast; Fred teasing him all the way through it as Ron and Harry laughed along with him. The only support he found was in Hermione who seemed genuinely pleased that he had asked for help. George sent her a small smile as he managed half a piece of toast before rushing from the Great Hall; frantic about not wanting to be late for his first lesson with you.

His hands shake as he walks past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, thinking of you and your whereabouts. The door appears after his third walk past and George hurriedly tugs open the door before he can talk himself out of it.

The room in which you have conjured reminds George of the Hall in which McGonagall had taught her first and only dance lesson. However, you’ve conjured a whole wall of mirrors that have a bar running across the middle.

  
George pauses in the entryway as the large wooden door slams shut behind him. The noise still hasn’t alerted you to his presence as you fiddle with a record player, a small collection of vinyl’s laid out on the small table. He watches you twiddle with the settings; the volume dial and checking that the needle is secure before turning to survey the room.

You jump when you spy George standing by the door. You greet him with a large smile, beckoning to him with an outstretched hand, “Come on in, George, I don’t bite.”

George laughs despite himself; stepping further into the large room. “What is this place?” He asks.

You turn around; arms stretched wide as you explain, “This is what the dance studio back home looks like. It’s where I spend all my time when I’m home for the holidays, so I bring it here when I can.”

“It’s wonderful,” George comments; breathless at the sheer amount of detail and personality personified by the room. He barely knows you, yet he realises he’s standing in an incredibly personal room that you’ve trusted him with. He feels honoured that you’ve put this much trust in him already.

You smile at him in thanks before turning your attention back to the vinyl’s littering the small table. You tap your fingernails against the table as you sift through the records, trying to decide which would be best to start with.

It takes a moment or two, but eventually you settle on a vinyl catering to classical music. You turn to George, holding the cover up for him to see much to his dismay, “The first few dances will be to instrumentals I’m afraid, so it’ll be classical for now.”

George frowns, but he nods, nonetheless. He’s never been a fan of classical music; not understanding the feelings that could be evoked from it. He needed lyrics in order to feel something; he needed to hear the pain or joy in the singer’s voice for him to feel the true extent of the song.

“First things first, show me what you think a hold looks like.”

George raises his arms; only feeling slightly foolish as his right arm stretches out and his left arm curls around an invisible body. His left splays across an invisible back, and he watches you appraise him.

“Am I okay to touch you?” You ask; not wanting to make him jump as you start grabbing his arms. At the nod of his head, you start to feel his framework, checking for where it lacks in definition.

It takes the better part of fifteen minutes to explain why his frame is essential to the dance when George believed that it would be his footwork that solely mattered, but by the end of your rant, he understands it all a lot better.

Then you move onto the footwork. Explaining to George that spending every minute of the song staring down at his feet was going to cause more issues than anything. You can’t help but laugh slightly each time he steps on your foot; he apologises with such sincerity that it’s hard not to forgive him either though you know your feet will be bruised tomorrow. However, as the song finishes and the needle begins to click onto empty record, you feel that George has what it takes to become a good enough dancer to woo Margot.

Breaking the hold, you rush to the record player, lifting the needle from the record and setting it to one side. “Tell me about Margot, George. Why her?” You ask as you pat your face down with a towel and grab a bottle of water, offering another to George.

George shrugs, taking the offered water bottle, “She’s gorgeous, and she’s ridiculously talented in Charms and Transfiguration.”

“Huh,” You comment.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” You reply, shaking your head with a smile George couldn’t define, “I didn’t think you would favour brains over looks for some reason, but you’ve surprised me.”

“Have you got a date?” He asks; curiosity getting the better of him.

You shake your head, “No date, but I am going to the ball with a group of my friends. It’ll be a good night; I’m looking forward to it.”

“It will,” George echoes; mind faraway, to a night in the future where he grabs and keeps the attention of Margot.

“All we need to do now if get you ready for it. You’ll be a pro in no time, Weasley.”

“You think?”

“I don’t think, I know,” You gloat, a smile crossing your face, “If we continue to meet every week until the ball, you’ll be waltzing Margot into a tizzy.”

George barks out a laugh at your words, heading for the door, “I’ll see you every Saturday then.”

“Every Saturday,” You echo as George leaves. You shake your head; vaguely wondering about the outcome of these lessons.

\--------

Two weeks into the lessons and a friendship forms between yourself and George. He was so enthusiastic; he was happiness personified. It was hard not to find yourself caught up in his retellings of pranks he was behind, or stories of being at home over the holidays. He had a knack for storytelling; punctuating in the right places and creating a set up that had your sides hurting from laughing so hard.

You find yourself sitting with his friends more – at meal times and in the common room; getting to know the rest of the golden trio other than Hermione, and finally meeting Fred Weasley.

“So you’re the one who’s been teaching our Georgie how to dance,” Fred states; mischief in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“I am,” You comment, smiling politely, “He’s doing well, if you wanted to know.”

Fred grins, reaching for the jar of orange juice in the centre of the table, “I don’t doubt it.”

George rolls his eyes at the small conversation taking place between you and Fred. You smile at his reaction, but also at the blind faith placed in George by his twin brother.

“You should have seen him the other night, (Y/N),” Fred cackles, “He was practicing some footwork, stating that he needed to get it right before your lesson.”

“You weren’t?” You ask George; delighted in the blush staining his cheeks.

“I was,” He admits shyly, “But it was that really tricky part that I couldn’t get last time.”

“That’s adorable, Georgie,” You coo; reaching over to pinch his cheek. He bats your hand away with a laugh but keeps hold of your fingers for a tad longer than he should have, enjoying your attention and the sound of your laugh.

“How did you get into dancing?” Ron asks; voice curious as he munches on a piece of toast.

“It was something my mum signed me up for when I was four years old and it grew from there.”

“Do you mainly dance ballroom?” Hermione asks; eyes bright as she basks in the happiness to have her older friend sit with her usual friends.

“Not just ballroom,” You state, “I tap dance too as well as some ballet.” At their wide eyes you backpedal, “My mum wanted me to have the grace and dexterity of a ballerina before she realised I much preferred the other two. I finished ballet when I was thirteen, but I still do the stretches,” You shrug, “They help with the warm ups for other dances.”

George grins; eyes darting between you and his friends, “What did I tell you? She’s a wonder.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re only calling me that because you feel guilty for how often you step on my toes.”

Fred snorts, “Does that often does he?”

George blushes; reaching for his drink. You shake your head with a laugh, “Not now. He did a lot in the beginning, but he’s much better now.”

George’s blushes deepens as the warmth of your words settles on your skin and he meets your eyes. The gaze holds; both of you forgetting you’re sat at a table with friends as you both smile softly at the other.

Someone clearing their throat has you breaking the gaze with George. Your face heats as you meet the interested stare of his twin brother; Fred’s eyes darting between you and George as if seeing something that wasn’t obvious for the two of you.

Conversation starts up again; Fred talking to George and Ron asking Harry about a piece of homework. As their voices gather around you, you give yourself a moment to come to terms with the feelings raging in your body. You let yourself have a single instant in which you wonder whether this friendship has developed into something more for you.

\--------

A week before the ball and you’ve accepted your feelings for the redhead. You’ve accepted that in just over a month, he’s not only formed a friendship with you, but he’s also gotten you to fall in love with him. At eighteen years old, the world tells you that you’re too young to know the meaning of the word, but what else could describe the way you feel when you look at him? What else could explain the racing of your heart when he meets you outside your classes, an arm ready to grab your bag?

At eighteen years old, the world expects you to know so much, but not your own mind. However, at eighteen years old, you know that you’re in love with George Weasley, and all from him asking you to teach him how to dance.

“What do you think? Ready to practice a waltz, George?”

He laughs lightly; the sound being music to your ears, “Let’s try a waltz.”

From the moment the needle meets the vinyl, George has his hold ready. You glide into it seamlessly; hands joining together as George begins to lead you through the one, two, three steps of the waltz.

Distantly, you hear the music sounding from your record player. Distantly, you hear your footsteps on the wooden floor, but all you can focus on is how good it feels to be in George’s hold. To have his hands on you; how warm they feel against your skin and just how much you want him closer to you.

He continues to lead you round the floor; his eyes not leaving yours as his grip on you becomes tighter. Your mind heads into overdrive; wondering how it would feel to have his hands on different parts of your body; how he would react if you leaned forward that little bit and kissed him.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy…” You murmur; whether it’s from the spinning or from the close proximity of George, you can’t tell.

“Kind of lightheaded?” George asks; a small smile on his face, “Me too.”

“Maybe we should…” You trail off; truly not wanting this moment to end as George pauses mid spin.

“Stop spinning? I think we should too.”

“We have stopped,” You say; refusing to drop the hold, refusing to leave him.

George shakes his head; his mind becoming clearer as he comes too from the daydream he found himself in as he spun you around the Room of Requirement.

Neither of you know how long you stand there; his hand on your waist and yours on his shoulder. Neither of you know how long your chests heave; from the breathlessness of the dancing, but also from the hormones and emotions flying about the room that neither of you are truly ready to address.

Stepping back - protecting your heart mainly - you drop the hold, moving off to the side where your bag waits for you. George opens and closes his mouth a few times; unable to find the words he wants to say, unable to comprehend the feelings coursing through his body this very minute.

Holding your bag to your chest, as if having a physical barrier between yourself and George will stop the cracking of your heart, you whisper, “I think you’re ready, George.”

“You do?” He asks. They aren’t the words he wants to say; they aren’t the words that are carved into his heart, mind, and soul, but they are what he says because he can see the look on your face, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You nod, trying your best to stave off the wobbling of your lip and the breaking of your heart until you’re back in your room. “Yeah,” You say; smiling weakly, “You’re ready, Georgie. Go get your girl.”

You leave him there; rushing from the room with the last of your broken heart trailing behind you. The tears begin to fall on your way back to the common room; unable to look anyone in the eye as you sprint to your room and throw yourself on your bed.

Hiding your face in your pillow, you barely repress the scream that’s been working its way out of your chest. The way your heart was cracking in your chest, you felt certain the whole school could hear it. You felt the fool; how could you not fall for him? How could you not fall for every aspect of him? You saw him at his most nervous and you saw him at his most confident; you saw every aspect of him, and your heart gave itself so willingly that you hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

It was too late. He was ready; he could waltz the night away with Margot and he would be none the wiser to your feelings. There was no need for him to know just how he made your heart race, or how he was the reason behind most of your smiles these days. He didn’t need to know how he featured in your daydreams; distracting you from classwork.

He didn’t need to know any of that because by the end of the Yule Ball, he’ll have wooed Margot and you’ll have returned to your dance studio alone.

\--------

The dance studio feels cold without him; as if in the sort time you had been teaching him, it had also gotten used to his warm presence and the light he exudes.

Following your old routine, you select a record and place it on the player. Setting the needle down, you roll your neck, stretching your muscles out as the first song begins to play.

Needless to say that while you lose your body to the music, the steps being second nature to you, you do not lose your mind. Your feet follow the steps, but your mind does not quieten as it flips through images of what George could be doing right now. How his hand would feel on small of Margot’s back; how his hand would clasp hers tightly as he leads her confidently around the dancefloor.

You hadn’t been able to attend the ball in the end. Too afraid of what you might see, and what you might feel. Too afraid to meet the eyes of those you now class a friends and see the pity reflected in their eyes as you realise that your feelings for the Weasley twin had been obvious to everyone but him.

You gasp as you catch movement in the corner of your eye; regretting leaving your wand so far away on the table. You hold a hand to your heart as you face whoever had found your room.

He stands just in front of the door; chest rising rapidly as if he ran to all the way here.

“George?” You question; automatically stepping closer to the redhead, your heart starting to sing at his very presence. Every part of you wants to reach for him, but the logical side of you makes you wait.

“I waited for you,” He states plainly with no greeting, “I waited for you and you didn’t come.”

Your eyes drop to the floor as you confess, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t watch you with her.”

You couldn’t watch from the sidelines as George danced the night away; dancing what you had taught him. It only felt like further punishment, and for now, you had had enough of that.

“I waited for you,” He repeats.

“Why?” You ask; needing to know.

“I couldn’t take her. Not after our final dance lesson, it wasn’t fair to her or to you. So I didn’t take her. Instead, I waited outside the Great Hall for over an hour, hoping you would make an appearance. When you didn’t, I had to come find you. I knew you would be here.”

You sniffle, “You came for me?”

George nods, “I realised something after our final lesson.”

“What?”

He steps further into the room; striding forward until he stands in front of you. He tilts your face up sing two fingers; his eyes shine with happiness as he whispers, “I don’t want to dance with anyone but you.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t. If I’m to dance with anyone, it’ll be you. I think we were meant to be; don’t you agree?”

You nod your head, faintly brushing your lips against his as you whisper, “I agree. I think we were meant to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Please leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed!!
> 
> Tumblr: @iliveiloveiwrite


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